


For Everything You Gain

by cherryroad



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-10
Updated: 2009-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-12 06:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/122126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryroad/pseuds/cherryroad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank is a werewolf and he is severely injured, Gerard tries to be a stern and caring pack leader, and Bob is secretly smitten. Special guest appearances by medical!Ray and submissive!Mikey.</p><p>From a prompt at the <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/bandom_hc/profile">bandom_hc</a> community. Beta work done by <a href="http://kazaizor.livejournal.com/profile">kazaizor on LiveJournal</a>.</p><p>Don't forget to check out the lovely <a href="http://scatterbones.livejournal.com/2142.html#cutid1">fanart</a> by <a href="http://kazaizor.livejournal.com/profile">kazaizor</a> and the <a href="http://lady-fro.livejournal.com/5942.html">stunning fanart</a> by <a href="http://lady-fro.livejournal.com/profile/">lady_fro</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Everything You Gain

He spots them quickly, the group of three young werewolves thirty yards in front of him. It's not difficult; they're making way more noise than necessary in the moonlight, crashing into bushes and occasionally bumping into trees. They seem to be heading vaguely in Frank's direction, into his territory. The one who appears to be leading, a taller and lankier wolf with fierce yellow-hazel eyes, stumbles less frequently than the other two.

Normally, Frank wouldn't care if the entirety of the other pack were to all go out and get piss-drunk and fall off a cliff. As long as they kept out of his territory. But they're invading his land, and that shit just doesn't fly.

Frank knows he could take them. He can smell their intoxication, their amused perplexity at how the trees seem to be twisting and writhing around them. They're past being very drunk. With their addled sense of visual perception, Frank could easily out maneuver the trio, being quite fast and agile in addition to his sobriety.

In wolf form, Frank crouches beneath a bush and hides himself. Through the brush, he can still easily pinpoint the werewolves as they start to move away from him. He rustles some of the branches below him, louder than usual, and attracts the leader's attention. The black wolf wheels around, sluggish and unsteady on his feet due to his intoxication, his teeth highlighted by the light of the moon, and his eyes flicker across his surroundings until he finds Frank in the dark.

The black werewolf stalks over to Frank, increasing his speed as the other two scramble to catch up to him, bewildered. Frank breathes in once, tasting their sudden confusion at finding some other creature in the woods besides themselves.

When they're up closer, he can tell that they've been training to be fighters, like Frank himself had trained before he…well, before. They looked leaner from far away, but up close he can see their bulging muscles, ones they could only have after years of stretching and training. _No wonder they're allowed out to go and get drunk at such a young age,_ Frank thinks. _They're trusted to know how to defend themselves._

The black werewolf reaches him first, teeth bared, and charges at the bush Frank is in, a growl rumbling up from deep inside his chest. Frank leaps upwards at the last second, landing somewhat awkwardly to the side and away from the attack.

The gray werewolf, not too far behind the black one, scratches ruthlessly at Frank's muzzle, his long claws digging into the ridged bone right above Frank's eyes. Frank whimpers a little, ignoring the pain – just like his instructors taught him – and lunges up onto the gray wolf. While the black werewolf recovers, obviously impaired by his blood-alcohol level, he pins the gray wolf, turning him over.

The tan werewolf, last of the three and skinnier than the other two, stands off to the side, not engaged and smelling a little skittish. Maybe he's just watching so he can learn some tips? _Well,_ thinks Frank, _he_ better _watch me, because that's the only way he'll learn how to fight properly._

The skirmish continues on just like that, Frank attacking one werewolf and moving onto the other after a short time, leaving the previous one to lick their wounds and recover. Their yelps and howls round out the sounds of their bodies colliding.

Frank lunges back and forth, his lean body flexing easily around his two competitors. He's sure that he's going to win this fight no matter what. The other two are already bleeding quite profusely, and the tan werewolf, still on the sidelines, smells worried and afraid, as if he wants to come out and help his two companions but is scared of what his fate will probably also be.

That's when things start to become a lot of fucking trouble for Frank.

The black werewolf, after recovering from Frank's latest attack on his front paws, jumps on top of Frank and starts jerking back his hind legs, making Frank's face plow into the gray werewolf's bloodied chest and, eventually, into the ground below them. Frank's only thought is, _What the hell is going on?_ , and before he can even register what's happening, his body is thrown up against the nearest tree. The bark tears at his skin, pulling the flesh away and gouging his ribs as he falls to the ground, too slowly.

Frank lies there, dumbly, contemplating the move that was just pulled on him. He doesn't remember ever learning something like that, so it must be an incredibly new move. Then again, it seemed like it required both the gray and black werewolves to pull off. It might have been a group effort, then, and Frank usually skipped the partner and group classes because he didn't trust any of the people he learned how to fight with and didn't really want to "build up your trust levels with your partner," like their instructors always used to say.

Frank stays down just a second too long, though, because the two other werewolves ambush him, pinning him into the dirt. The black wolf lies directly on Frank's chest, compressing his lungs. Frank wheezes and coughs out a low growl, but the black wolf's eyes sparkle with malicious glee as he starts pawing at Frank's abdomen, ripping apart the skin previously mangled by the tree.

The gray wolf is above him, pulling his paws up around his head awkwardly and twisting them around at his leisure, playing with Frank's appendages to see if this one turn here or that sharp bend there will give the satisfactory snap of a bone breaking.

Frank grimaces, fighting to keep down a howl that's attempting to force its way out. He's trying to block out the pain by conjuring up everything to keep his mental stability up, but it's just too much. There's too much pain, too much hurt, too much blood. _It's not even – they're drunk. They're drunk, they're drunk, they're drunk._ It's a mantra that Frank keeps repeating in his head. _They don't really know what they're doing._ They don't actually know they're kind of close to making Frank a torn piece of meat. _Surely they'd show some compassion, if they were sober._ But they're _drunk,_ and they really don't care, so anything Frank does to try and stop them won't work.

With this worrying realization, Frank stops struggling and becomes limp, succumbing to the overwhelming pain; hoping against hope they'll become bored with playing with him before he's unable to make his way back to the cabin and Ray, who will probably help patch him up.

A quick whiff of the air around him alerts Frank to the tan's wolf's sudden fright, a mess of light fur as he circles the three of them, nudging at his friends, trying to get them away from the bleeding mess that is Frank's werewolf form. _He probably wasn't cut out to be a fighter,_ thinks Frank. _He can't even handle a little blood._

The black wolf studies him cautiously, seemingly regarding him with some contempt. In any other circumstances, this would be a good time for Frank to counter-attack, but his enemies were more intelligent than he had anticipated. They knew how to fight, and fight well, so Frank wouldn't be able to move any part of his body for quite a while.

Eventually, something gets through to the black wolf, and he glares at Frank steadily, his haunted yellow-hazel eyes burning into Frank's, before jumping off of him and trailing off into the night. He still stumbles, but makes headway on a path that would take him home. The gray wolf follows almost immediately, and the tan wolf gives Frank one long look (Frank projects it's a look of pity and there's maybe a bit of apology thrown in there, too) before dashing off behind the others.

Frank whines in the back of his throat and stays where he is.

* * *

About an hour before dawn, Frank gathers up the little strength he has left to transform back into his human form and make his way down to the river. From the river bank, he follows the water downstream, letting it lead him back to the cabin. He finds one of their supply posts on the way. It's supposed to be hidden, but its really easy to smell, what with their scent all over the extra clothes. There's a bunch of non-perishable foods, too, for emergencies. Of course, Frank didn't want to spoil Gerard's 'genius' plan by telling him about the scent, and nobody else dared to speak to Gerard the way Frank does on a regular basis, which means the post was established anyways.

Frank pulls on some sweatpants and a hoodie, both smelling suspiciously of Bob. Frank breathes it in, the smell of his family, his pack, his _home_ , and it manages to give him some strength to make it back to the cabin just as the sun peeks up over the horizon.

Gerard is, as usual, sitting on the porch swing, surveying the land in front of him. Frank manages a lopsided smile at the familiar sight of Gerard inhaling his morning cigarette and limps into view. Gerard's eyes pause on Frank, seemingly unsurprised to see him in such disarray – he's probably smelled Frank's blood and anger and weakness from quite a while away. Frank's grateful Gerard didn't come out to help him; Gerard, more than anyone else, knows how seriously Frank takes his job in their pack, and how Frank hates to think that he can't do it well enough to require assistance.

Frank approaches the steps leading up onto the porch as Gerard finishes that particular cigarette, dropping it in the small puddle near Frank's feet. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself," Gerard says, standing up to offer his assistance to Frank. "You look like you were on the losing end of a fight with a special effects artist."

"Yeah, well," Frank murmurs, the pain increasing as he slowly lifts his leg to move up the steps. Gerard helps him into the house without another word, but Frank can smell Gerard's concern.

Gerard all but lifts him into a large armchair. "I'll go get Ray, don't move," he whispers before disappearing down the hall to wake up their comrade. Frank huffs out a breath, a weak attempt at a laugh, a sharp pain running through his abdomen at the effort. Frank, move? After he walked a mile with his guts hanging out of his stomach? Pfft.

Gerard comes back into the living room, Ray trailing closely behind him with his medical bag. Ray yawns silently before pulling up a stool to sit on Frank's right side. "What the fuck?" he blinks, staring at Frank. "Did you decide it'd be fun to rip apart your skin?"

Frank tries to laugh again but clutches his torso. "Don't make me laugh, motherfucker. And fuck, it hurts everywhere. Mostly in my stomach and my arms. Everywhere else is like, duller."

Gerard pulls up another stool, sitting to Frank's left. Immediately Frank feels both immensely cared for and like he's about to get reprimanded by his two parents – Gerard and Ray, as the pack members of highest rank, have perfected what Frank jokingly refers to as the Mom and Dad routine, acting suspiciously like parents sometimes. Gee gives him a stern look and says, "What the fuck, Frank?"

Frank stares at Gerard as Ray unzips the hoodie from around his stomach to inspect the damage. "I – what? You're reprimanding me when I'm half bleeding to death?"

"Fuck," Ray breathes, almost too softly for Frank to hear. He's so close to his chest, Frank's figures his head is dangerously close to having blood red highlights. Distantly, he considers what Toro would look like with red hair.

"No, I'm not reprimanding you, dumbass," Gerard rolls his eyes. "I'm asking what the fuck happened. You didn't just chase some fox for fun and get mangled up in the meantime! Something had to have happened to tear you to fucking _pieces_!"

Frank's in so much pain he can't help but be a smartass. "Couldn't you just fucking _smell_ what happened?"

Gerard gives him another look which implies Frank's being a dumbass again. "You know very fucking well you were out of my range. What happened with the other pack?" _The other pack,_ never the previous pack. Even though it was Gerard's idea to split with them in the first place, he never condemns them or puts them down. "It worked well for them, and it still does," Gerard always says when Frank brings up this particular point. "But it just doesn't work for me, and it doesn't work for you, either."

Frank rolls his eyes a little as Ray gets out the gauze. "You need to sit up on your own, Frank, I need to wrap this all the way around your torso." Frank sighs and clings onto Gerard's outstretched arms, gritting his teeth against the pain but never letting out a single sound until Ray has him wrapped up completely and he can mostly relax. The stretchy material is sort of nice, but also itchy at the same time, and doesn't make him feel too relieved other than the fact that he doesn't have to hold himself up anymore.

"It was just a little fight, okay? They were wandering too close to our territory, too drunk to realize what they were doing, and I had to put 'em in their fucking place." Frank eyes Gerard as he wipes blood – _Frank's blood_ – off of his hands, blood that got on his arms when Frank was clinging to him.

" _Frank,_ it wasn't a little brawl you got a few scrapes in, okay? If it were, I wouldn't have had to pace around the porch, not being able to smell you anywhere for four hours. If it were just a _little brawl,_ you wouldn't be bleeding so much." Gee's making frantic hand motions and his eyes have gone wide.

"You're going to need stitches soon, Frank," Ray interjects, steering clear of taking sides in the argument. "I'll get the supplies for that as soon as possible, but you're going to have to be really careful until then."

"And you need _stitches!_ " Gerard exclaims, waving his hands erratically and being obviously upset by Frank's state.

Frank looks down, suddenly feeling horrible about being such a prick about things. "I just wanted to protect you guys," he starts, a little too soft. "Who knows what they could have done if they continued on their way over here." Frank's voice gets louder but still speaks with the same amount of conviction. "I couldn't let anything happen to you guys, that's my fucking job, right? I fucking did what I was supposed to and you're fucking _yelling_ at me for obeying you!"

Ray puts a hand on Frank's arm, steadying him from moving too much. Frank wasn't violently waving his arms around, but the involuntary shaking he was doing was more than enough movement to agitate his condition, and Frank silently thanked Ray for the support. Toro then takes the opportunity to inspect that arm, putting on patches of gauze and rubbing some alcohol into the deeper cuts.

" _They?_ Fuck, Frankie–" Gerard stands up abruptly, running a finger through his hair. He's trying to calm himself down before he really fucking loses it and wakes Bob up, too. "You don't know that they would have caused any damage. You said they were drunk? Well, they might've come over here and then we would have been able to turn them away, both of us. Drunk werewolves are belligerent, confused, they don't really know what's going on–" He stops hastily, his mind obviously way far beyond what his mouth can project, and just stares at Frank.

Frank's still caught up on the 'both of us' part. Frank doesn't fucking _want_ help to do the job he does so well. "Not all werewolves are like you when they're drunk, Gerard," Frank spits, glowering up at his leader and hisses when the cleansing alcohol burns a little too much. "They don't sit in their rooms and sip from their whiskey bottle while drawing sad things and being miserable about their life. Some get angry, some get mad, some will do anything to fucking release that rage, and they could have come here and torn the house to shreds. It's my job to keep that from happening, and I fucking did so."

Gerard just looks hurt, the kind of long-suffering face that's really only reserved for Frank. Especially when Frank pulls shit like he just did. He smells Ray's shock at Frank's outburst.

"But they tore you to fucking shreds, Frankie," Gee whispers. He looks pleadingly at Frank, his wide eyes suspiciously shiny. He's going to fucking cry and if he does Frank will, too. Frank just looks down, studying the intricacies of the gauze on his stomach. He doesn't really have a rebuttal.

After a moment, Gerard gets up silently and returns his chair to the dining room table before stalking off to his bedroom.

Now that Gerard's not arguing with him anymore, Frank really feels like a piece of shit. Of course Gerard cares more about Frank being healthy and uninjured than if some stupid, drunk werewolves came knocking on their door. That is also Gerard's job, to watch after his pack and make sure they're all okay.

Frank mouths, "Sorry," and Ray just hums at him, patching up the last of his wounds before looking Frank in the eye once again.

"Okay, so you're kind of in a lot of shit physically. That…I don't even want to know how the fuck you've torn up your stomach so bad, but you need a shitload of stitches. I have to acquire those and some needles to stitch you up with, and that'll probably take me one or two days. The good news is that none of your internal organs took a whole lot of damage, and they should be fine on their own." Frank nods. "Also, you have tons of bruises and really shouldn't be moving. So I'm putting you on bed rest until further notice. Now come on, let's get you into some cleaner clothes and into bed." Ray stands up and holds out his arms for Frank to hold onto.

When Frank's lying in bed with fresh, clean clothes, he decides that he really fucking loves Ray Toro.

* * *

Frank is nowhere near being asleep by the time Mikey slips into his bedroom. Ray had come in and given him strict orders to not move around so much, and since Frank couldn't lie anywhere but on his back that left him in a pretty uncomfortable situation. He looked at his digital clock and realized that it was ten in the morning already, and he'd gone without sleep for the past thirty hours. He was tired and cranky and his body hurt so fucking much.

But when Mikey comes in, Frank releases the tension in his body a little. Mikey must have just come back from getting some groceries. Frank heard Gerard whispering to Mikey when he got in, them both putting away all of the stuff Mikey received from Ray's family down in the little corner of town where they always supply food and other necessities for Ray's pack.

Mikey walks soundlessly over to Frank's bed and pulls up a chair, sitting next to him just like if they were in the hospital. Frank shudders unconsciously – he'd rather be in much more pain at home with his family than in a hospital, even though it's not like they can go to the hospital, anyway.

At Mikey's small nod, Frank moans lowly before unleashing all of his anger frustration at Mikey, who doesn't even flinch. He's mad at the wolves he fought, at the fact that he has so many injuries, at Gerard for being overprotective, at Ray for telling him not to move at all, at being so tired, everything. He's shouting at Mikey as if he was responsible for everything that's ever gone wrong in Frank's life.

He _knows_ Mikey isn't the cause of all his frustration, knows Mikey has nothing to do with why he's so hurt. But this is what Mikey does as the youngest and lowest member of the pack. Mikey will sit there and take everything you verbally throw at him, keeping his signature blank face, just so you can let out your madness in a safer way than, say, punching everyone and everything you came into contact with. Normally the youngest members of the pack are regularly beaten and raped, but Gerard vehemently prohibits any kind of physical abuse between any members of the pack, especially against Mikey. It was one of those rules from the _other pack_ that Gerard was absolutely appalled by and was one of the first rules he abolished in his new pack. Mikey had to fight tooth and nail just to be able to have them vent their anger verbally on him, that he could take it, that the pack might fall apart or go insane or both if there wasn't some release of that kind of emotion.

Mikey's so fantastic for being the youngest member of the pack, because Frank knows he talks to Mikey a bit too often, and Mikey never treats him any differently for it. When you're done, he'll get up and go out and bring you some soup or Gatorade or whatever they have in the fridge and talk about the highest level on Halo he just reached, and what Frank missed on the latest episode of Buffy Mikey watched earlier that day even though they've both seen the entire series more than once. Mikey was pretty much a life-saver, and he kept everyone from losing their minds on a daily basis. Frank loved the shit out of him.

Frank's not done screaming, though. Once he gets going, he just kept rolling with it. He screams about his childhood, everything he was always disappointed by in being the second lowest family in the entire pack, being denied everything from daily showers to enough food to keep him satisfied. He screams about the fucking injustice of all of the authority in the other pack, of how it's fucking unfair that they can't even live in the city, in a nice apartment or whatever just because the townspeople "would be afraid," as the mayor put it. He screams about not being able to visit the hospital because they would just keep him there and perform tests on his altered DNA. He screams about the fucking blood he can feel on his stomach, sticking to the gauze and almost binding it to him.

He shouts and screams and cries until he's just a blubbering mess on the bed, tears freely streaking down his face and his body shaking once again from exertion.

Mikey just stands up and smoothes some hair out of Frank's face, smiling softly at him. He places a chaste kiss on Frank's forehead and as his lips leave Frank's skin he whispers, "Sweet dreams."

* * *

The rest of the day proves to be more than boring and pretty uneventful. Frank slips in and out of sleep, finally, thank-fucking-God for Mikey, and wishes there was something more for him to do. If he could, he would play his guitar, which was sitting in the corner. He suspected, if she could talk, his guitar would be calling to him, 'Play me! I'll make you feel better, you know I always do!' Except then Frank figures his guitar would be talking kind of like a prostitute, and she's classier than that.

Frank also wishes there was a television in his room, or a book to read, or _anything_ he can use to occupy his time. He wants to do something else besides think about what an asshole he is for getting into such a bloody mess, for getting into the fucking fight in the first place, for making Gerard almost cry.

It's not that he pushes Gerard's authority because he wants to see him cry. It's far from that. He pushes Gerard's authority because Gerard is the one with the most authority, and Frank doesn't like one person having that much power. He also gets away with it because everyone knows that Gerard has a soft spot for Frank.

Frank understands that Gerard was worried about his well-being, but now that he's going over what Gerard said and did more and more, he realizes that he might not have reacted the same way if Toro or Bob got hurt. He wanted Frank to come home unscathed, at least, and have them fight together, the two of them against the world.

Gerard is still in love with Frank.

Frank scoffs. Why the fuck would Gerard still be in love with him? _Gerard_ was the one who broke it off in the first place, telling Frank that he should concentrate on his studies or some shit, blah blah blah, Frank wasn't really listening because Gerard _dumped him_ before he went off to do something he maybe wasn't wholly interested in so that he could _be with Gerard_ , be able to have a relationship with him without feeling guilty.

After that Frank went off, did his thing, not really devoting himself to his classes because now he didn't really have a purpose anymore. And that mindset he had about loathing his superiors stayed intact. He fought and argued with his instructors and anyone who dared tell him what to do, and that was eventually what got Frank kicked out of the pack. _Whatever,_ Frank thought at the time, _there's nothing really binding me to this pack, anyhow._

He said goodbye to his mom, the one person he still cared for, and packed his bags. He made it about an hour down the river before Gerard, in wolf-form, caught up with him. They made their way to a clearing downriver and Gerard changed back into human form then, urging Frank to just wait a few days for Gerard to get some stuff together and Frank could join Gerard's new pack, where the rules would be different and everyone would coexist in harmony, or some other poetically phrased bullshit Gerard was always spewing that Frank, young and idealistic, just ate up.

Frank was entranced – Gerard just broke up with him but now he was in front of him, naked, pleading with Frank to come back to him. Well, metaphorically speaking. He could see the bags under Gerard's eyes, his paler-than-normal skin, his too earnest face, hopeful, and couldn't say no to him. Frank agreed and set up shop in that small clearing for a few days before Gerard, his brother Mikey, and their neighbor Bob following behind, having decided to join them and their new pack.

It didn't occur to Frank then that Gerard still loved him, would always pay more attention to Frank than anyone else, always was sniffing the air in what Frank thought was a means of keeping an eye on his entire pack, now that he was a leader. But he realizes that Gerard wasn't sniffing in order to watch over everyone, he was just watching over Frank. He made Frank his second in command immediately, not once thinking that anyone else should have that opportunity. When they found Ray in the woods and turned him, brought him into the pack, Ray worked his way up to the second highest rank, right above Frank. Frank didn't mind because Ray didn't have anything against them, he was just loyal and eternally grateful to Gerard for turning him at that time in his life when he would have died. Ray was a much better second-in-command than Frank had ever been, yet all the while Gerard kept apologizing to Frank for Ray being where he is and making worried faces at him over the breakfast table.

It didn't matter to Gerard that Ray was an amazing werewolf for only being one for an incredibly short amount of time. What mattered to Gerard was how Frank felt about it, how he felt about everything, what his opinions were. He let Frank get away with back-talking him all the time because he wanted to hear what Frank's opinions were, wanted Frank to keep him in line when Gerard could go a little crazy. All this time Gerard's been in love with Frank, still, after he was the one that broke it off.

 _Gerard has always been in love with Frank._ Frank's so dizzy he can't even hold his head up.

* * *

Shortly before dusk, Ray and Bob come into Frank's room, carrying a large tray with bread and broth on it. Bob sets it on the small desk Frank has in one corner and sits down in the chair Mikey sat in that morning. Ray's still standing but looks down at Frank anxiously.

"I'm going out in a little bit to go talk to my cousin Henry," Ray states, wringing his hands a little. Henry's the guy who works at the hospital, is a nurse or some shit, Frank remembers, and could get Frank the stuff he needs. Halle-fucking-lujah. "Gerard's making the rounds of our territory right now and Mikey's keeping an eye on him from the living room. Uh. We've brought you some food and Bob's going to keep you company."

He scoffed a little at Gerard taking his _fucking_ job but thanked Ray anyways as he headed out the door. Bob was just staring at Frank evenly, and he smelled calm. Bob pulled the chair over, closer to Frank on the bed, and set the tray of food down on Frank's nightstand, where Frank could easily reach it. They chatted about Bob getting to the next level of Donkey Kong and when Mikey had almost talked to the human girl he liked earlier that day while in town. It felt totally normal, eating dinner with Bob and talking about nothing important. Bob made Frank feel safe.

The next morning, Frank woke to a throbbing pain in his head and chest, realizing belatedly that he forgot to take some pills before dinner last night. He had been too interested in talking with Bob.

Speaking of Bob, he is slouched in the chair he had been sitting in the entire night, his head leaning against the backrest. Frank snorts at the hilarity of Bob's mouth hanging open and pokes him as he tries to stand up. Bob grunts but shifts a little and slowly opens his eyes.

Frank's more or less sitting up now, trying to pick through the remnants of last night's dinner and find some hardcore pain medicine that may or may not be there. "'s there any painkillers?" Bob grunts again but gets up, hopefully to find something for Frank to take.

He comes back in with a glass of water and two pills in his hand, and Frank grabs both from him greedily and gulps them down. "Oh, thank fuck," Frank says through clenched teeth. "You are a life-saver, Bob Bryar."

Bob doesn't say anything and Frank sniffs, hopefully, but Bob just smells reserved. Frank has no idea if he's done anything wrong or what. Bob gathers the food and a bunch of miscellaneous stuff Frank doesn't usually have in his bed onto the tray and slips out of the room quietly, leaving the door open. Frank sighs dramatically and splays his hands out around him. One night of almost-normalcy has the consequence of seriously unnatural tension. What the fuck.

Bob comes back into the room carrying a thick hardcover book and a thinner but larger paperbound book. "Here," Bob says evenly, handing the hardcover to Frank. "I thought you could use something to do."

Frank looks at the book. It's one of his favorite novels, It, by Stephen King. It'll surely keep him occupied for the rest of the day, maybe even more if Ray doesn't get back soon with his fucking medical supplies. Frank looks up at Bob and smiles, and Bob smiles a little back.

Bob goes to sit over at the desk and opens up his book, pulling out a pen. Frank opens up the novel carefully and starts to read, every once in a while his mind shifting away from the plot and over to Bob. The atmosphere in the room has gone from "awkward-night-after-even-though-I'm-pretty-sure-we-didn't-have-sex" to "awkward-night-after-I-may-have-spilled-my-innermost-secrets-to-you."

Frank can't decide whether it's a good thing or a bad thing that Bob is not talking to him and doing whatever the fuck he's doing on the desk. Frank can't fucking _smell_ anything coming from Bob, which is frustrating. If Bob would release his scent and project how he feels, Frank would know how to react. As it stands, Frank just feels uncomfortable.

After about an hour Frank gathers up the courage to talk, whether Bob's mad at him or not. "What are you doing over there?"

Bob lifts up his book to reveal boxes with numbers in them. "Sudoku."

"Dude!" Frank said reverently. "I didn't know you liked Sudoku. I suck at it."

"It's an acquired skill," Bob says, almost amusedly. Frank grins back.

"What level puzzle are you doing?"

Bob looks down. "Medium."

"Oh," Frank says. "That's cool. Keep up with your number wizardry, Bryar."

Bob almost laughs. "Will do."

Frank feels mildly better about the whole situation after that short conversation. Bob is _still_ acting as if nothing is wrong, and maybe Frank was just being paranoid before. Maybe nothing really _is_ wrong. Except for Frank's fucked up body.

A little while later, after Frank and Bob have been in a comfortable and companionable silence for quite a stretch of time, Frank tries to start another conversation. "Why are you in here with me?"

Bob looks over at Frank steadily. "What?"

"Why are you in here with me?" Frank repeats. "I mean, it must not be all that fun for you sitting in here with an invalid doing number puzzles for hours on end, right? Shouldn't you be like…I don't know, doing something more eventful?"

Bob doesn't even flinch, though Frank gets the feeling Bob's not exactly comfortable with this conversation. "Because it's better to be around someone in silence than be alone in silence."

Frank nods to himself; it makes sense, because he feels the same way. Frank almost asks, "But why are you in here _with me, specifically?_ " which may or may not make Bob leave the room, and Frank doesn't want to be alone. He keeps his mouth shut and continues reading.

It's lunchtime when Gerard comes in, bearing a tray of food for three people. He's smiling almost sadly at Frank. "Here, I brought you guys some food."

"Are you joining us?" Bob asks, putting away his book.

"You don't mind?" Gerard says, looking somewhat anxiously between the two.

"Of course not," Frank speaks, because it is his bedroom after all. He still feels slightly weird around Gerard, because hello, did he not just have a revelation about this guy twenty four hours ago? Gerard smiles gratefully and sits on the edge of Frank's bed. Frank tries to surreptitiously scoot a few inches away from him without seeming like he's a total freak.

Bob gets up from his chair and starts dividing up the food, Gerard almost telling him he doesn't have to but restraining himself. Bob will pretty much do all this stuff, anyways, because he's the second lowest member of the pack and he feels like he owes it to them, or some bullshit like that. Frank doesn't really care as long as he doesn't have to move too much. The painkillers still haven't kicked in yet.

Gerard chews on a bite of his turkey sandwich before asking, "How are you feeling, Frank?"

"Pretty shitty," Frank replies absently, because it's true. He does feel shitty. "I'm hoping Ray gets back with whatever he needs in the next millennium."

"He's getting them as fast as he can," Gerard says. "You know it's not easy, we take too much from his human family as it is. Never mind that dealing medical supplies is illegal."

"I know, I know." Frank accidentally bites on his tongue and thinks fervently, _fuck my life._ "I just don't want to be in my fucking room anymore. I want to…protect."

"It's good you're not succumbing to your traumatic experience," Gerard replies earnestly, reaching out to hold onto Frank's calf. Frank tries not to flinch; he has a purple bruise right where Gerard's thumb is. "You should get back out there and face your fears."

"I'm not _afraid_ of anything," Frank says, tearing violently at his cheese sandwich. "I just want to be able to do my fucking job."

Gerard sighs, removing his hand from Frank's leg. "I don't want to fight with you, Frank," Gerard says quietly.

Frank ignores him because he doesn't know how to reply, especially when he realizes that Bob is sitting right next to him. It seems like every time he and Gerard are having these sorts of conversations there are always other people in the room. "So how was your morning, Gerard?"

"Oh," Gerard waves his hand around absently as he takes another bite. "I painted some this morning and I'm thinking about going into town later to sell a few things at the flea market just up the road."

Bob nods, his first contribution to the conversation thus far. "Awesome. What'd you paint?"

"Well, with what's just happened," Gerard gives Frank an anxious look, "I figured I'd do something to remember it. I've been working on a lot of apocalyptic pieces, you know, with monochromatic neutrals and one or two lone figures. So I have this one piece I did with a guy walking amongst rubbles of a ruined city, with different organs and stuff from his own body strewn across the path behind him." Gerard looks kind of thoughtful. "I'd bring it in but it's not dry yet."

"It's fine, just as long as you don't try to sell it before I see it," Frank says, grinning. He loves seeing Gerard's artwork, especially when he inspires it. And there is absolutely no doubt in Frank's mind that he _is_ the inspiration for Gerard's latest piece.

"Oh, no," Gerard's eyes go a little wide, and he sets a hand on Frank's shoulder, speaking earnestly, "I wouldn't do that."

Frank smirks and they spend the rest of their lunch companionably, much like how Bob and Frank spent their dinner the night before. Frank's grateful, especially for not really arguing with Gerard this time. How could Gerard even love Frank when Frank tries to pick fights with him all the time?

It's only when Frank's halfway through _It_ that there's a knocking on his door. Bob looks up from his Sudoku book – he's now finished with the medium level puzzles and just started doing the hard ones – and over at Frank, presumably because he's not really allowed to have people enter a room that isn't his. "Come in," Frank says, dog-earring the page he's on and setting the book at his side.

Ray shuffles in, carrying his bulging medical bag. "I got the stuff I need," Ray says excitedly.

"Dude!" Frank grins.

"Yeah, so, we can go whenever you're ready. I don't know if you wanna wait until later, or—"

"No, right now," Frank say stubbornly, trying to get out of the bed. Bob jumps up and grabs onto Frank's arms, steadying him.

Ray nods fervently. "Okay, yeah. We'll, uhm. I suppose we could do it on your bed? But it'll get kinda messy, so. It's better that we do it somewhere easier to clean, so your bed isn't ruined. I'll go clean off the extra table in the back room, okay?" Ray says his last part to Bob, who only grunts once before picking Frank up bridal-style.

"Why, Bob Bryar, I didn't know you cared," Frank says in a passable falsetto, batting his eyelashes. Bob doesn't say anything, and Frank thinks he might have imagined Bob actually _blushing._ Frank sniffs quickly but, nope, Bob's emotions are still not available to him.

Ray's walking in front of them, still carrying his medical bag. "Let's get this show on the road."

"Fucking finally," Frank says.

* * *

They enter the back room together and Bob immediately sets Frank down temporarily in a chair – which was all wooden, no padding or anything, and it fucking _hurt_ the bruises on his shoulder blades so much Frank bit his lip until it bled – and then goes over to help Ray clear off the table. It was about six feet long and three feet wide, large enough for Frank to fit comfortably on, with stable, thick legs and intricate detailing on the side. Ray places a threadbare cloth over the surface, presumably not to bloodstain the wood too badly.

Ray pulls his medical bag up to a small end table and rummages through it before producing two large, sturdy ropes. “Frank, we’ll need to tie you down.”

Frank finishes removing his shirt and exposing the blood-soaked gauze before rasping, “What? Why?”

“We don’t have any anesthetic, it was too much of a risk,” replies Ray, looking genuinely sorry. “It will hurt like a bitch, and I don’t need you flailing at me and punching me in the face while I’m trying to sew you back together.”

Bob nods in agreement. “You’re fucking tough, you can handle it.”

Frank takes in a sharp breath but stands up on his own, using the chair for support. “Fuck, fine, okay.”

Ray aids Frank over to the table and he and Bob lift Frank up and lay him down face up – fuck, the wood still hurts his shoulder blades – before Bob fastens the ropes tightly.

Ray sorts through his bag some more, pulling out pliers and needles and some medical thread. Bob does something at the end of the table, presumably tying the ropes around the legs, that Frank can’t see. It hurts to bend his neck that far. Frank squeaks a little when Bob suddenly grabs onto his bare leg.

“Sorry,” Bob mumbles as he pulls Frank’s sweatpants down his legs to cover his ankles. At least he won’t get horrible rope-burn. Bob does this to Frank’s other leg, as well, until he’s securely fastened to the table and cannot flex his leg.

“What about my arms?” Frank questions as he tries to pull his pants up a little. They are so far down his torso that he might as well just flash everyone.

“There’s not enough rope. I’ll just have to hold you down,” Bob replies casually, moving up the table towards Frank’s head. Frank sighs.

“There wasn’t enough rope? Fuck. What’s secured?” Ray asks from somewhere inside his bag.

“Just his legs,” says Bob.

“Fuck,” Ray repeats, pulling his head up to look at Frank. “Bob’s going to have to secure your arms and I guess I’ll have to sit on you.”

Frank squirms a little, testing the ropes around his ankles again. He leaves his hands up by his head even though Bob isn’t touching him or anything. Better to be prepared and not make any sudden movements.

”Frank,” Ray says, giving him a firm look. He must have perfected those from Gerard. “Stop moving, you’re just making it hurt more for yourself.”

Frank glares up at Ray. “I know that, fuck, I’m sorry, just get on with it, please. Everything hurts,” Frank begs near the end.

Ray nods as he climbs up over the table and sits gently on Frank’s thighs. “How long’s it been since you took a painkiller?”

Frank mumbles in reply, “A while.”

“Good,” Ray says, lining up his medical instruments carefully in the order that he will use them.

Bob chuckles as he takes hold of Frank’s forearms, his face suddenly in Frank’s line of sight. “Now, don’t go wasting any thread.”

Ray scoffs and leans most of his weight onto his knees, which are on either side of Frank’s hips. “Fuck you, Bryar.” Frank’ll admit it – he’s a little jealous of the relationship that Bob and Ray have. How easygoing Bob is with Ray, and that only being because Ray helped him study a bunch of medical shit when Ray was first turned because Bob was so interested. _That was probably why Bob stayed with me,_ thinks Frank, _because Bob would know what to do if shit got messy._

Bob crouches down and looks at Frank’s face, studying it quietly before whispering, “You’ll be okay.” His face is upside down to Frank, Frank’s eyes lining up with Bob’s mouth and vice versa. He looks oddly disproportional, like how people on TV look if you lay on your bed with your head hanging down the side. Frank thinks Bob looks kind of hot, his steely blue eyes standing out even more than they normally do and his bangs hanging away from his face and his plush lips set apart ever so slightly.

Frank nods at Bob’s statement finally, forcing his eyes shut as Ray starts peeling away the gauze from around his torso. Without having his skin compacted against itself, it folds away from his ribcage and flops down on the table a bit. Frank lets a low growl erupt from his throat, the excruciating pain shooting throughout his entire system.

“Fuck,” Bob breathes quietly, and Frank vaguely remembers that Bob hadn’t seen the damage done to his body up until that point. Frank manages a sniff, right into Bob’s neck, and he smells astonished, and maybe a little scared. Frank tries to nuzzle into Bob’s beard, maybe just a little, to find some comfort, but it’s a no-go because the restraints on his ankles allow zero upwards movement. Damn. Instead, he lets out a soft whine, clenching his teeth.

Ray continues unwrapping the gauze, cutting it every here or there so that Frank doesn’t have to be lifted off the table. Ray starts talking in medical jargon to Bob, motioning to this organ here and that layer of skin and blah blah blah, Frank really doesn’t want to be looked at like some diagram in a medical textbook or whatever, he just wants to be _sewed up_ and not in so much pain.

Frank manages a small, warning bark at Ray. Ray stops immediately and starts getting his act together, and for that Frank is grateful. Bob just holds onto Frank’s forearms a little tighter.

“This is top grade shit, Frankie. I don’t need to remove it when you heal because it will just disintegrate on its own.”

“Fuck,” whispers Frank, twisting against the pain but the ropes and legs and arms around him holding him down. “You mean I’ll have fucking thread particles in my body for the rest of my life?”

“No, no, it’s organic material that your body will eventually filter out. But I don’t need to operate on you again to take the stitching out once your skin has healed.” Ray picks up the needle and starts to go at Frank’s skin.

Frank tries to stay still after that, he really does, but his body just doesn’t want to fucking cooperate with him. He thinks he hears Ray mutter something along the lines of, “I knew this would happen,” but he can’t be too sure. There’s this huge ringing in his ears, like he’s inside a church bell at six o’clock or something. It’s not that everything starts hurting, but more like there’s one centralized pain that kind of peters out along his body as you get farther and farther away from his torso.

He doesn’t feel an ounce turned on anymore, all of his senses blocked out except the basic touch. He feels the soft gauze still underneath his torso, the thin cloth underneath his upper back and head, the cold wood underneath it. He feels the ropes tightly binding his feet to the table, his sweatpants softening the harsh material. He feels Bob’s soft, large hands, securing his arms to the table. He feels Bob’s beard, just lightly scratching Frank’s face, warmth emanating from Bob’s neck. He feels Ray’s knees and thighs, Ray’s hands carefully placing the skin and binding it together. He feels the pain stretching from his ribcage outward, blinding him.

Frank opens his eyes suddenly and gets an eyeful of beard. He repositions his head, ignoring the intensified ringing in his ears, to get a look at Ray. Ray looks like the epitome of a mad scientist and a crazy psychopath, though he is thankfully neither. Frank’s blood is spattered on Ray’s white t-shirt, twine-like material wrapping around Ray’s hand and his arm, tracing back around to wherever the string sits. His hair has a bit of blood in it, too, giving him eerie red highlights that Frank remembers thinking about when Ray first patched him up.

Frank closes his eyes again and focuses on his breathing until Ray says, “Frank, stop trying to breathe so hard, please, I can’t get your stitches tight enough when you keep moving like that.” Frank attempts to shallow out his breathing, huffing in and out as he tries to move his chest as little as possible.

The pain then becomes almost bearable, the ache in his chest constant. He learns to not focus on the pain and focus on what he should do when he gets stitched up. He should probably go out and talk with Gerard, see if anything strange has been happening on their territory lately. Or, if they happen to be alone, talk about more serious matters, like how Frank’s such an asshole and how maybe Gerard is kind of an asshole, too, for loving someone but letting them go for bullshit reasons. Maybe he should go talk to Mikey, just to see what’s up, how he’s doing on Halo so far. Oh, and finish _It_ , but that can wait. Frank starts feeling dizzy and lightheaded after a short while.

Right before Frank feels like he might pass out, the pain lessens considerably and Frank hears Ray go, “Done!”

Bob breathes, “Thank fucking God, Jesus Christ,” before carefully letting go of Frank’s arms.

“Am I going to live?” asks Frank dramatically.

“You are going to live,” Ray nods as he gets off of Frank’s thighs.

Frank whispers, “Fuck yes,” before finally passing out.

* * *

  
Frank wakes up back in his room, Gerard sitting anxiously near his bed with a cool cloth. When he notices Frank’s opened his eyes, he stands up immediately and places the cloth over Frank’s forehead.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there during your operation, Frank,” Gerard whispers, as if there’s some unknown entity in the room with them – _again_ – that shouldn’t hear what’s being said. “You know how I get with needles, and I couldn’t bear to see you all broken like that again…”

“It’s fine,” croaks Frank. That sets him off on a small coughing fit before he regains his breath. “It’s really fine.”

“No, it’s not,” Gerard replies sadly. “I wasn’t there for you in your time of need. In _any_ of your times of need.”  
   
Gerard looks so pathetic to Frank he doesn’t know what to do. While what Gerard’s saying is true, Frank’s also fairly certain that there really isn’t a whole lot he couldn’t forgive Gerard for. Sure, Gerard wasn’t there when Frank was getting the shit punched out of him and Gerard wasn’t there during that day he spent in his room reading a book and Gerard wasn’t there during the surgery. But Gerard is the fucking _pack leader_ and that priority trumps any personal agenda Gerard may otherwise have. Frank may resent Gerard’s power but he also knows that it comes with a sacrifice.

“Like I said, Gerard, it’s really okay,” Frank says again, attempting to sit up. Gerard gets up worriedly but he waves him off. “I’m not a fucking sick puppy that you have to constantly watch over, or whatever. I can take care of myself. You have other things you need to worry about.”

“I,” Gerard starts, then makes a face. “I’ll be more vigilant during your recovery, I promise.”

“As long as you don’t bring me snacks every hour,” Frank laughs, then clutches his stomach, because _ow,_ his skin still has that gaping hole in it. Gerard leans forward awkwardly and sniffs, surveying Frank’s newly clothed torso from over the sheet. Once Gerard seems satisfied that there isn’t any outstanding pain, he leans backwards in his chair a little.

“It’s not like you couldn’t use it, you need to keep your nutrition up so your body can heal itself properly,” says Gerard sincerely.

Frank scoffs. “Not little cucumber slices and biscuits for tea.”

“Since when have I ever served tea?” Gerard’s eyes widen. “You know I don’t firmly believe there’s enough caffeine in tea.”

“Oh, you and your addictions.”

Gerard’s face clouds over just a bit before regaining all of his color again. Frank has enough time to wonder why that happened before he feels like a giant asshole. He was the one who just recently insulted Gerard for him being a recovering alcoholic. Nice job, Iero.

“Listen, I –” Frank starts, looking fully up into Gerard’s face.

Gerard panics and stands abruptly. “You know, I think Mikey’s getting back soon with some more vegetables for our dinner and I forgot to preheat the oven. We’re having pot pies, is that okay? We’ll bring you in some later,” Gerard spits out quickly as he races out the door.

Fucking great. Frank can’t even apologize to Gerard for being an asshole, yet Gerard apologizes to Frank more than he really should, and for stuff he doesn’t even need to apologize for. That’s what endears Frank to Gerard so much – he’s so earnest and caring, and it never occurs to him that he pretty much has the power to do whatever he wants, he’s so insistent on equality and fair treatment of everyone, defying tradition.

Frank sighs. Another opportunity wasted.

* * *

  
Frank’s just started a new chapter in _It_ when Bob comes into his room. Frank sniffs as he looks up and smiles. Bob smells apprehensive but also calmly happy. Frank carefully dog-ears the page he’s on and closes the book, setting it to the side. “What’s up?”

“Just came to check on you, see if you were in any more terrible pain,” Bob replies, maybe smirking a little. Frank grins.

“I truly appreciate how much you care about my life, Bob Bryar.”

“Oh, you know,” says Bob offhandedly as he comes over to the bed and pulls on the sheet. “Just doing my civic duty.”

Frank giggles as Bob pokes around his abdomen, looking at the stitches that still do kind of hurt. Bob playfully pokes a little more insistently – he must be in a _really_ good mood to be kidding around like this – and Frank giggles harder. Soon they are engaged in a tickling match, with Frank nearly crying before Bob sobers up and inspects Frank again for more damage.

“Way to fuck up my stitches, Bob,” Frank says happily, the mild ache in his torso nothing compared to how happy he is for some normality.

“No way, see?” Bob points to a random stitch near Frank’s navel. “They’re fine. I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re the one who went to medical school.”

“I wanted to,” Bob says quietly.

Frank sits up, unaware of the cliff he’s most likely just stumbled upon. “You did?”

“Yeah, before…before I found out we couldn’t. As werewolves. Go to real school,” Bob says quietly, retreating to the chair halfway across the room. He looks uncomfortable, even _smells_ uncomfortable, but Frank really doesn’t give a shit.

That first night when they were talking about everything under the sun? Apparently they hadn’t mentioned everything. Frank’s intrigued, and he wants to know more about Bob because Bob is pretty much the most secretive member of their entire pack. Why turn down an opportunity to learn more about a person who has probably spent the most time with him since his…accident?

“I know that, like, every born werewolf has that kind of epiphany sometime when they’re pups, but I just…never thought it also applied to me.” Bob runs a hand through his bangs, pushing them off to the side. Frank sits up in interest, even though it pains his abdomen some. “I was getting fed all this bullshit by my parents and my parents’ friends and everyone else I met because they were all under the assumption that werewolves are the best fucking beings on the planet and can do _anything._ ”

Frank nods, because he knows what Bob’s talking about. He himself had an epiphany of never truly being able to be a rockstar – because who would really hire anyone who was a werewolf? Besides, Frank was of low birth in the pack, and that limited him even further – but he also knows about the ‘werewolves are gods’ thing. When he was in school, that was one of the few things they taught _everyone_ , no matter if you were being trained to be a fighter or a servant or a soldier. Bob, being of pretty high birth, along with Gerard and Mikey, had probably heard this way more often and was expected to believe it without question.

“It’s like…yeah, we may be awesome, but that doesn’t mean everyone else accepts us. And sometimes I’d wish I wasn’t a werewolf at all, so that maybe I could go and do what I wanted to do. I wanted to be one of the wolf doctor’s apprentices, but all of the other spots were taken by people who showed a more…outspoken interest in it,” Bob goes on, leaning down more and more in his chair. It’s like the subject physically pains him to talk about.

Frank opens up his arms dramatically and, when Bob seems not to see him, clears his throat obnoxiously. Bob looks up, confused. “Come here.”

“What?”

“ _Come here._ This is obviously a cuddling moment,” Frank replies genuinely. So maybe he’s a bit more of a cuddler than most people and would not pass up an opportunity to cuddle, especially since he hasn’t really been able to do any of that since he received his injuries. “If you don’t get over here in the next five seconds, Bryar, so help me God–”

Bob smiles awkwardly and shuffles over to Frank on the bed, hovering at the edge, looking down worriedly at Frank. “I don’t know, I don’t want to fuck up your stitches.”

“Fuck that,” Frank says, waving his arms around a bit. “I want to fucking cuddle with you, so get the fuck in my bed.”

Frank thinks he sees Bob blushing – _again!_ – before he stumbles awkwardly onto the bed, still not touching Frank.

“God, Bob, _seriously,_ ” Frank huffs before grabbing Bob by his biceps and hauling him pretty much into Frank’s lap. “Okay, you may continue with your story.”

Bob awkwardly tries to adjust his position, so Frank backs away slightly to let him get comfortable before latching back onto him again. Bob makes halfhearted protests of “Your stitches-!” but Frank just ignores him.

“I don’t have much more to say,” Bob says, muffled. In the process of Bob getting comfortable, he ended up with a Frank on his lap, snuggling into the short little hairs on his face and neck. “I mean, people tell you shit, you grow up to find it’s not true, your dreams are crushed. So, whatever. It happens to every wolf. I don’t need a fucking pity party.”

Frank wraps his arms a little tighter around Bob’s torso and just breathes him in, enjoying his specific scent. It calms him, for some reason, the same way it calmed him when he put on Bob’s clothes from the supply post out in the woods right after he was in the fight. Bob smells peaceful and safe and like home, and Frank doesn’t think he wants to leave. “I think you’d be a fucking awesome doctor.”

Bob maybe inhales a bit too harshly before whispering, “You do?”

“Yeah,” Frank nods, or tries to, what with his head in the crook of Bob’s neck. “Look at all that you’ve done while I’ve been hurt. You’ve made sure that I got enough painkillers and helped in the surgery so that I didn’t kill Ray and spent time with me to make sure I stayed sane. I’d say that’s a pretty fucking fantastic doctor, dude.”

“That sounds more like a nurse,” Bob points out, but he sounds pleased. Frank snuggles closer, remembering how much he loves cuddling but that it was never quite the same as this.

* * *

   
A few days pass by and Frank’s been getting more handsy with Bob. He now knows that Bob secretly likes to cuddle – someone else in the pack is possibly as tactile as he is! – and Frank takes any opportunity he can in order to get in some snuggling time with his favorite blond werewolf. Bob’s been mostly staying in his room, keeping an eye on him for “post-operative injuries” or what the fuck ever. Gerard seems to buy this reason, but every time he comes in to check on Frank and update him on whatever’s going on and bring them food, he always looks warily over at Bob. Frank can smell Bob feeling anxious and nervous, because if Gerard ever told him to get out of the room for a little while he would do it, because Gerard is Frank’s superior and they are both superior to him in the pack. But Gerard never says anything, just makes worried faces at him.

Frank doesn’t care because he can sometimes convince Bob to lay in his bed with him while Bob works on his Sudoku puzzles and Frank reads _Catcher in the Rye,_ because he finished _It_ the day before.

Now, it’s one of those lazy mornings, them both in Frank’s bed doing their own thing, not speaking but feeling comfortable in each other’s silence. It is cozy and warm and Frank doesn’t want to leave until he realizes that he smells like a pile of shit.

Frank hasn’t showered in fuck knows how long, and he’s usually really good at keeping clean. He supposes that his injuries should take precedent over his cleanliness, but now he _reeks_ and he doesn’t know why he hadn’t noticed it before but he needs to get in the shower in the next ten minutes or all of the filth on his body will colonize into one giant mass of dirt and _eat him alive._

“Bob,” Frank says nonchalantly, dog-earing a page in the book and looking over at Bob leaning against his shoulder.

“Hmm?” replies Bob, not even looking up from his number puzzles.

“I need to take a shower,” Frank dramatically states.

“Uh…Okay?”

“You have to help me.”

“Excuse me?” Bob finally looks up, his hand poised in mid air. “I have to help you shower? I think you’re capable of cleaning yourself.”

“No I’m not!” Frank protests, because he knows that Bob’s totally right, but he doesn’t want to go in there himself. Besides, Bob…makes him feel safe. And maybe more than that, but Frank’s been kind of avoiding it ever since it bitch-slapped him in the face at his surgery. “My abdomen still kills and I can’t stand upright on my own.”

“Hell no, I’m not getting in the shower stall with you,” Bob intones, looking back down at his book.

“ _Please?_ Don’t you want to make sure I don’t fall and get a post-operative injury and then die because you were too much of a pussy to help me get myself clean?” says Frank. “Bob, I thought I knew you better than that.”

Bob looks up at Frank but doesn’t say anything. Frank curves his face into a really convincing pout and Bob eventually caves, putting his book down and sliding out of bed, holding a hand out for Frank to latch onto. “All right, fine. But I’m not washing you.”

“Please, you love to dote on me,” casually replies Frank as they walk – Bob walks, Frank limps – to the bathroom down the hall.

It’s not as awkward as Frank thought it would be, or maybe Frank’s just being unobservant. While stripping his clothes off doesn’t require much of his attention, maybe the fact that his stitches keep getting caught in his shirt do. They haven’t receded yet, and Frank wonders if Ray mistakenly got the wrong kind of stitches or if Frank’s body is just that fucked up that it won’t accept them.

Bob makes him put on a totally ridiculous plastic lens on top of his injury in order to keep it from getting infected and to keep unnecessary and unnatural particles – like the harsh body wash Frank uses – out of his stomach. Frank whines about it but he’s secretly excited when Bob has to smooth it out carefully over his stomach, and he maybe imagines Bob moving his fingertips gently over his abs, caressing and teasing. Then Frank stops and opens his eyes because Bob’s face is like, right near his dick, and will totally tell if something were to happen.

Bob only stands, however, and opens the shower curtain. “Don’t peel the plastic off, it’s there for a reason. Otherwise, don’t take too long. I have shit I need to do.”

“Like what, find out where that last nine’ll go?” Frank playfully questions as he perfunctorily pulls off his boxers and steps over the ledge of the bathtub.

“For your information, I’m very good at getting all the nines in,” Bob says amiably, if a little off from his normal self. Whatever. Frank’s washing his hair and he’s getting _clean._ “You gotta work on getting all of one number in first, like focus on the fours if they’re easy for that one or not.”  
   
Frank snorts, even though he thinks it’s probably a good idea Bob’s figured out a system to his Sudoku so that it’s actually entertaining and not just frustrating. “What, are you going to brag to me about your awesome Sudoku skills?”

“What, are you going to brag to me about your awesome reading skills?” Bob retorts mockingly.

Frank flips him off through the shower curtain but Bob probably doesn’t see, because he’s probably not leering through the curtain at Frank’s body, because Bob is not a creep. Like Frank. Frank feels like he’s a total creep, now, as he steps under the shower head and rinses off his hair. Who invites a friend into the bathroom while they take a shower? It makes Frank think he’s a pedophile, or something. Except Bob would maybe be the pedophile in this scenario. The creepy old guy standing outside the bath while the little boy or little girl takes and innocent little shower and the old guy starts touching himself.

Except that makes Frank think about Bob jerking off, sweating and leaning against the wall, actually being kind of a creep and looking at Frank’s form through the curtain. But he wouldn’t be a freak because Frank would totally be up for that.

Frank looks down and decides that this is really not the time for a boner, so he starts up another conversation. “Have any wolves come around from the other pack yet?”

Bob hesitates slightly; Frank can totally tell, even through the curtain, though his voice doesn’t imply anything’s amiss. “No, they haven’t.”

“Damn,” Frank curses, lathering up the body wash and putting it onto a loofah. “I want a fucking rematch.”

“You will not have a fucking rematch,” Bob replies smoothly. “I don’t want to have to spend more time nursing your sorry ass back to health.”

“I’m grateful!” Frank hears Bob change positions – maybe he’s leaning on the counter more? He thought he heard some kind of squeak – before he doesn’t reply. Apparently there’s no comeback.

“Has…” Frank starts as he washes the delicious smelling soap from his body. “Has Gerard…talked to you, about anything?”

“No.”

Frank knows that if Gerard and Bob had been talking, Bob probably wouldn’t tell him. Or maybe he would, except if Gerard asked him not to tell anyone, especially Frank. Would Gerard have tried to take Bob away from Frank? Because Frank would love to scream at Gerard if he did so.

“You guys haven’t…talked recently?” Maybe Gerard’s waiting until Frank’s healed to unleash his jealous fury on Bob.

“Well yeah, we talked, but it’s hardly one-on-one. You know, ‘cause he just comes in for meals with us sometimes,” says Bob casually.

Frank frowns as he turns off the water and blindly reaches out for a towel beyond the curtain. He doesn’t say anything, because he knows that Bob’s being kind of cagey and he doesn’t really want to push the matter and make Bob more uncomfortable than he actually is. What with being in the bathroom with your packmate while he was taking a shower not three feet away from you.

They make it back to Frank’s room in one piece, and Bob doesn’t bolt for the door, so Frank considers himself good. He smells warm and clean and even though his sheets are still kind of rancid his hair smells _nice_ and he just feels really good. It’s this almost dream-like euphoria he’s in – after only taking a shower! – that makes him reach for Bob’s wrist as he snuggles into his covers.

Bob looks perplexed, once again, and he smells a little apprehensive. Frank ignores this warning sign and whispers, “Could you lie with me?”

Bob’s eyes grow a little wider, which is pretty much the only time he’s ever seen Bob somewhat shocked. “I – what?”

“Could you lie down with me?” Frank continues, in too blissful of a state to care about Bob’s tone. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Bob hesitates, visibly wavers, before sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed, laying himself down slowly and softly, hardly even making any noise. Frank makes a weird bark of protest and wraps his arms around Bob’s middle, pulling him in even closer.

This close, Frank’s nose is a small distance away from the back of Bob’s neck. He breathes in deeply, and doesn’t smell what he expects: Bob is scared. He’s nervous and afraid, of what Frank isn’t sure. It’s not like Frank’s going to stab him in his sleep or anything. But he can tell Bob is genuinely uncomfortable and that wakes him up from the dream he was in.

Frank sits up a little, scooting himself back from his companion. “Bob, what? What’s the matter?”

There’s a small grunt but no visible movement. Frank frowns slightly as he sniffs again: Bob’s emotions do not change.

“Am I being too…weird?”

“No, you’re not…” Bob says softly.

“Then…what’s the matter?”

“I’m…” Bob starts, then sighs, still facing away from Frank. “Nevermind. I’m being stupid.”

“What? No, you’re not,” says Frank fondly. “You don’t have to stay here if you don’t have to. I mean it, like…if I’m being too pushy, or trying to start something you don’t want – “

“No!” Bob replies louder. Frank startles, looking over at Bob with wider eyes. “You’re not…you’re not doing anything I don’t like, or whatever. But just…I feel…” Bob looks down at the sheets, never making eye contact with Frank, as if he’s ashamed of what he almost said.

“You feel like what? You know you can tell me, Bob. I’m not gonna beat you or whatever because you disagree with me.”

“Ha,” Bob laughs without any real emotion. “You’d have been beaten to a pulp if Gerard were like that.”

Frank frowns again, because he doesn’t want to talk about Gerard, really, while Bob’s in his bed. “Seriously, Bryar. Tell me what’s up.”

Bob sits, then turns abruptly over to face Frank, making the bed squeak. Apparently if he’s going to do this, he’s not going to pussy-foot around.

“There are…Ever since I’ve known you, I know you like to cuddle and touch people and it makes you happy when others are willing to let you do that to them. But you’ve never…you’ve never shown an interest in me before, and I don’t,” Bob coughs, lowly, taking a quick glance at the sheet before resuming eye contact. “I don’t know what I should do.”

Scrunching his eyebrows together, Frank tries to piece through Bob’s words. Bob’s been _watching_ Frank, and knows he’s a tactile person? And what does he mean, he doesn’t know what to do? Either he cuddles with Frank or he doesn’t, and Frank wouldn’t care either way as long as Bob was happy with the situation. Or, he’d care a little. Cuddling with Bob is _awesome._ Okay, so maybe a lot.

Frank sniffs slowly, taking in each of the aspects of Bob’s personal scent one at a time. Tension. Anxiousness. Confusion. Spreading hurt. Affection?

His eyes are approximately the same size as headlights as he asks, “You’re in love with me?”

Bob blushes – actually, full-on, _really_ blushes this time – and looks down at the sheets again. That’s definitely a yes. Wow. Frank did not see that coming _at all._

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Frank demands, pushing Bob’s shoulder a little.

Bob looks up helplessly at Frank. “Because you’re my superior,” he says slowly.

Frank narrows his eyes. “So you disobey your parents and family, who are your superiors, but you can’t tell me – your friend and _loyal packmate,_ the one you love, who isn’t even really superior to you that much – how you really feel?”

Bob looks devastatingly angry at Frank. Frank knows Bob won’t do anything to him – Frank’s his “superior” – so Frank just stands there, pooling in his own rage. “Whatever,” the blond replies forcefully, surging out of bed and leaving the room.

Frank falls on the mattress loudly, pounding it with his fists and nearly _crying_ with another opportunity whizzing by him. Why can’t he do anything right? Bob admits that he has feelings for him, and Frank has to go and yell at him for nothing important instead of saying _hey, yeah, I feel the same way about you, I think, can we get back to the cuddling in bed part?_

* * *

  
It’s been three days since Bob and Frank had their discussion – revelation, fight, whatever – and Frank has not seen Bob since. Gerard seems to be coming in more frequently, but every time Frank tries to talk to him Gerard skirts around questions or directs the conversation elsewhere or just flat-out leaves. Frank feels frustrated and lonely. The rest of the pack pretty much steers clear of him, not talking about anything important with him, and all of Frank’s emotions are being bottled up. He’s not really sure how much longer he can go without exploding at someone out of frustration.

Mikey, being pretty much psychic, can apparently tell that Frank needs to take out some pent up frustration on something, so he visits Frank’s room after supper, taking a seat and motioning at him to speak, “You seem tense, Frank...”

Frank takes the opportunity, because he has learned e-fucking-nough about missed chances, and vents to Mikey. It helps, but only a little, and Mikey brings him some water and starts talking casually with him but he eventually has to leave, and Frank’s left alone again with his thoughts.

It’s not like he doesn’t really like Bob, because he does. He thinks he may even love Bob, and he can’t imagine much more time without Bob’s constant presence in his life – literal, right-there-in-the-room-with-you presence, because Bob’s been present in Frank’s life ever since the new pack – because Bob is now so essential to Frank’s day that there isn’t any other way Frank feels he’s supposed to live. If he isn’t eating breakfast with Bob next to him, making disgusted comments about his Sudoku book, then why is he eating breakfast at all?

At the same time, Frank also cares very deeply for Gerard. It used to be romantic, but as time had passed and his heart needed mending, the romantic mood of their relationship turned to a loathing distrust and then finally into a good, steady platonic relationship. Gerard insisted on being “more vigilant” during Frank’s recovery, and he really had become more aware and spent more time with Frank, but he wasn’t _always there_ like Bob was. Gerard wasn’t a constant in Frank’s life anymore.

In Frank’s mind, it eventually boils down to one of two things: break Bob’s heart but have him not show it and be the second-lowest pack member he usually asserts himself to be, in the process have him quietly despair over his lost love while Frank either stays single or gets back with Gerard for some reason; or choose Bob, create a relationship with him and break Gerard’s heart.

Normally Frank isn’t overly mean or vengeful, but there are some old wounds with a certain Mr. Gerard Way that can only be mended by getting even.

Once Frank had made his decision, he eases himself slowly out of bed and out onto the porch, where he can smell Gerard, smoking cigarettes and still watching the woods in front of their cabin. His hair is a mess but he looks content, and he even smiles a little as Frank gingerly sits himself on the porch swing.

“Shouldn’t you still be in bed? You don’t want to risk anyth– ”

“Whatever,” Frank waves his hand in the air vaguely. “I needed to fucking get out of that room.”  
   
Gerard shrugs and takes another drag of his cigarette.

Frank watches him for a moment, taking a mental picture of the way Gerard looks in this very moment. His profile is defined in the glow of the moon, his slightly chubby cheeks a little pink with the chill air. His black hair, every which way but somehow forming some coherent shape. The cigarette poised between his long, nimble fingers, centimeters away from his lips. His upturned nose and soft eyes.

Frank feels horrible for what he’s about to do, but at least he’ll always have that mental picture of Gerard’s face to remember, if things turn sour.

“Hey, Gee?”

Gerard makes a little ‘hmm’ noise in response, keeping his eyes on the trees in front of him.

“I know you still love me,” Frank says, because what the hell, might as well get it out in the open.

Gerard, for his part, stutters quite violently and looks up at Frank in shock. “I – what? How did you know that?”

Frank shrugs. “I just…know. I know you. You always pay way too much attention to me, more than to Mikey. And you seemed weird around Bob when we were relaxing in my room these past few days.”

Gerard looks at Frank searchingly, then smiles. “I…yeah, I guess. Am I really that obvious?” Gerard grins at the trees.

“Yeah,” Frank breathes, then clears his throat. “Why did you break up with me?”

His expression changes to one of sorrow. “Because you were going away. You were trying to make yourself like all of the other wolves around me and you’d change, I knew you would, and you wouldn’t want to be with me anymore. I didn’t want to embarrass you by being all clingy and weird when you hung out with your new fighter friends.” Gerard’s playing with his hands and almost whispering by the time he finishes his little speech.

“ _What?_ ” demands Frank. “Do you even _know_ me? I wanted to be a fighter so that I _could_ be with you! I thought you’d be embarrassed of me because a bunch of people wanted to be you yet you were with me, a lowlife nothing in the pack!” Frank’s fists are clenched tightly on his thighs.

Gerard looks shocked, and Frank suddenly feels glad. _Good,_ thinks Frank, _now he knows he fucked up._

“I…” Gerard starts pitifully, but Frank cuts him off.

“You broke my fucking heart because you thought it was what I _wanted?_ Why didn’t you talk to me, fucker?”

“I was _scared!_ ” Gerard suddenly cries, looking fiercely at Frank’s face. “You were leaving and going to do what you wanted and I’d be left behind! I didn’t want to go through long and tortuous nights thinking about you while we were still together!” His features softened a little. “I thought it would be better if I just ended it before you did, because then maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much. But it still does.”

Frank sighs. “What the fuck, Gee, seriously.” He kind of expected this, though. It’s a very Gerard-like explanation for very douche-like behavior. “I wasn’t going to break up with you. I loved you.”

Gerard looks up, hopeful but distressed. “Loved?”

“I can’t,” Frank begins, then has to clear his throat and look at Gerard’s wilting face. If he’s going to do this, he’s going to fucking do it right. “I can’t love you anymore. If I had known you’d broken up with me over that before, maybe I could’ve, maybe we could’ve tried again. But I’ve moved on emotionally, and I’ve gotten over us. I think you should, too.”

“But we can still have what we had before,” Gerard says quickly, reaching out to take Frank’s hands in his own. “You may have moved on, but emotions can change and so can your outlook on life and love. If we can have one more chance – “

“I said I _can’t,_ Gerard.” Frank rips his hands away from his former lover’s. Gerard looks extremely hurt. “We had our chance. We were just stupid teenagers in what we thought was love, anyway. I don’t want to waste anymore of my time if I’m going to be beaten up like I was on a regular basis.”

Frank meant it as a bit of a joke, but the abrupt change in atmosphere made it clear that Gerard did not take it as such. Immediately Frank couldn’t smell Gerard anymore, just the plain Gerard scent, no emotion coming from him at all. He straightened his back almost painfully tall and tightened his facial features. His lips were in a thin line when he spoke.

“Go,” he said quietly, not blinking. Frank was a little unnerved; Gerard had _never_ acted this way around Frank before, certainly never blocked his emotions from Frank.

“No, I was just–”

“Shut the fuck up, Frank, and get the fuck away from me,” Gerard spat, leaping up from the porch swing quickly and running down the steps, changing into his wolf form mid-stride as he disappeared into the woods.

Frank stands slowly, the abrupt change in Gerard not what he had really expected. He had gone into the conversation knowing that Gerard would somehow be acting differently toward him, but maybe not necessarily _hateful._

Gerard definitely seemed hateful.

Before Frank knew what he was doing, he was knocking on Bob’s door, turning the knob before Bob could say anything. Frank walks slowly across the floor and crawls into Bob’s bed, burrowing underneath one of his arms. Bob doesn’t protest, just slides his hand up to hold Frank against his chest. Frank burrows his face into Bob’s beard, wetness seeping down Bob’s neck and onto his shirt as silent sobs rack Frank’s body.


End file.
